


Take me take me get me out of here

by baku_midnight



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, M/M, Not Romance, Psychological Horror, Violence, or is it?? no not really, possibly a bit of a mindscrew if I did it properly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-13 23:42:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14123394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baku_midnight/pseuds/baku_midnight
Summary: This place was clearly taking a toll on David.





	Take me take me get me out of here

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually my first attempt at a fic in this fandom! I've played around with it a lot, edited it, worked on it for hours...I'm happy with the imagery but I don't expect it to be very popular.
> 
> Also, be warned: even though it's in the ship tag, there is very little that is romantic about this.

_Wake up._

_Can you hear me?_

 

David shook his head as he snapped from his delusion, an elbow falling into his back ending his dreary daydream as the familiar gates came into view. He berated his mate’s roughness and squeezed his teeth as he pressed open the heavy door with an injured hand. The turn-of-the-century doors were broad and far too thick for their purpose, but marred with beloved scratches, polish wearing in some places and reinforced by the oil of thousands of hands in others.

 

The lights were dim everywhere in the pub save for the row behind the bar, which beamed down in hard, broad cones, haloing the bartender in silky white. Dwight looked fucking smashing in his uniform, the vision of high-class fantasy in a musty dive, the contrast riling David up right away. A waistcoat was cinched tight around his waist—slim, but with a solid width David loved to sink his fingertips into—his shoulders prim in a neatly pressed white shirt and tie, trousers thin and creased. The little smile he tossed David over the glass he was drying was pretty brilliant, too, even tempered with that shy blush David had come to adore.

 

“Oy, lovely,” David barked immediately as he entered, trailing the usual gaggle of lowlifes with him, the sound of their laughter like a bubbling fountain behind him, “got a drink for us, eh?”

 

Dwight gave a fond smile and a sigh, moving carefully to reach for a bottle concealed beneath the counter. “The usual?”

 

“You know best, love,” David called back, parking himself on a stool just in the middle of the bar.

 

It’d been a rough night, and so long one might think it would never end. Omnipresent fog clung at the ankles, so thick and sticky it was like marshmallow and pollen in one offensive mix. As the sun just sank across the line, David was already into a tussle with a couple of men, this time at the behest of his mate who insisted they pay for harassing his girl. Another man might’ve told his mate to calm down, sleep on it, go back with a level head, but David might not: he itched for conflict like an addiction. It wasn’t even about settling a score, for him, it was just the energy of the fight, the movements, the synchronicity, the _odds_. It took little to convince him to go in swinging and shouting.

 

He figured the rush would last him well until morning, unless he found something else to spike his adrenaline.

 

Dwight expertly poured a couple of fingers into each glass he’d placed on the bar, lifting the bottle and capping it in one swift movement. Tasting the bit of tangy liquid that dripped down the neck was a little less professional, but it warmed embers in David’s belly to watch a slim finger dip into Dwight’s mouth as he sucked it clean.

 

It was nothing like the way he was when David first met him, though, when he first started the bartending gig. Learning on the job, the young American was messy and clumsy and more likely to trip over his feet than concoct a tasty drink. After a few weeks of encouragement and a chance to prove himself, however, and he was practically growing into a pro before David’s attentive eyes. Watching his confidence grow over these past few months was honestly tantalizing.

 

A change of scenery was perhaps all the man needed. Dwight admitted to being underestimated in his hometown, pushed aside and all-out forgotten, but here, in a new country where no one knew his name, he could finally grow into something else. David was glad for it, either way.

 

“Cheers,” David toasted, tipping his chin in thanks. He leaned his elbows on the bar and went to take a sip, just then remembering the bloody gash across the knuckles of his left that was still weeping into the gauze wrapped hastily around it.

 

“You’re bleeding,” Dwight said, mild disgust contorting his features. He wasn’t surprised by the state of David, at this point, and wasn’t interested in asking where the wound came from, either, simply placing a napkin under David’s hand to protect the bar. The bristle of heat under David’s skin after the lingering touch was simple and pure.

 

“No mither,” David chuckled, “’ands still work just fine.” To emphasize his point, he reached out and grabbed Dwight’s wrist with the undamaged hand, and pulled it close to kiss the knuckles. Dwight stiffened and pulled away shortly, more surprised than offended.

 

His friends went home but David stuck back until last call, leaning on the counter, his chin in his hand, while Dwight exasperatedly tried to clean around him. Every time he walked past to grab another armful of empty glasses, David would smooth a hand over his behind, and every time Dwight would light up like a Christmas tree. Closing shop took a little longer than usual, but David’s half-drunk, all-clumsy attempts to help tended to make things worse, so Dwight relegated him to the doorway and promised to be finished soon. It was nearly two o’clock by the time they locked up, and Dwight switched out his keys for the ones to his sedan.

 

“Get me out of here?” Dwight asked, and David smiled dumbly, then shoved him against the car and tucked into him like a feast.

 

“Hey!” Dwight yelped as a mouth descended on his throat, and a freezing-cold hand crept under his shirt, flattening eagerly against his belly. David pressed into Dwight’s ribs to feel his breathing, deep and a little quick.

 

“Can’t you wait…?” Dwight whispered shyly, fumbling for the lock to the passenger’s door.

 

“Naw, want ya now,” David chuckled in reply, and continued to lavish him with wet, octopus kisses while they sprawled across the front seats.

 

“You’re a beast,” Dwight teased back, blushing like a burner coil and tapping David’s cheek with the back of his fingers.

 

They made it back to Dwight’s flat but only barely; it was a pitiful homestead compared to David’s posh abode but suited Dwight’s humble smile as he led them inside. They kissed, wet and noisy in the foyer, through the kitchen, and finally falling in a messy heap on the sofa, David pinning Dwight under him, knocking his knees apart and insinuating himself roughly in between.

 

He’d had plenty of partners, all handsome and brilliant and sexy, but he tired of their pretention quickly, unlike with Dwight. With the American, everything was on the surface, plain as can be, like a massive face carved into a mountain, or a statue with a torch, guiding the way. Dwight breathed out as David ground down against his hips, shuffling down the couch until he was lying beneath David, squeezing hands into his shirt.

 

The tender tilt of Dwight’s jaw when he looked down set David off, and he was clawing at Dwight’s clothes, pulling them off like unwrapping a gift, getting his under layer half-over his shoulders before giving up and just shoving it in his mouth. Dwight bit down as a palm swept over his nipple, pinching the tiny bud and pulling, drawing a stuttering gasp. David’s belly swirled with heat and his hardness pressed eagerly against his denim as he rutted, too entwined to free himself. Then Dwight looked up at him, giant brown eyes nearly black, all pleading and beseeching, _take the lead,_ and David lost himself.

 

Slacks ended up in the air and then lost in the interspace, hands pulling and pressing and pinching, grinding and smoothing together, eyes wide and mystic and mouths falling slack. David’s vision went white and then he was consumed, eyes rolling, and then shoving forward with a ferocious thrust.

 

_Wake up._

 

Suddenly, Dwight was underneath his hands and sobbing, eyes dribbling and mouth covered by his own palm to stifle choking groans. Green fog opened up around them, the locker creaked obscenely, and David was drawn back.

 

The humble flat fell away and the eternal nighttime of the trial opened up in its place, and David had Dwight pressed up inside a locker, one leg slung around his hips and the other scraping at the floor while he fucked into him with hammering thrusts.

 

David’s eyes went wide, looking Dwight up and down for a moment while reality settled in around him, dropping in as a cloying, marshmallow fog. Dwight was taking all of David into his luxuriating heat, swallowing down his groans and gasps as faint, thudding footsteps drew nearer and then away again. Back and forth, near and far. Cum decorated the edge of Dwight’s shirt, hiked up over his stomach. He bit his fingers, sinking two of them behind his teeth to choke out his moans, and David’s hips jumped forward in desperate passion. Dwight reacted to every movement of the cock inside him, hiccupping softly as David gripped his thigh and hiked it up higher on his waist.

 

Adrenaline spiked as the thudding sound came again and David felt the blood rush from his head. He slammed Dwight deeper into the locker, feeling Dwight’s thighs part wider for his girth, his pelvis tipping forward to take more of him. The noise was faint, but not faint enough—they would get caught. They would die. Dwight’s hand left his mouth to choke out an imploring,

 

“Please,” he whispered, voice trembling and breathy, “ _please_ —”

 

 _Get me out of here._ That’s what he’d said, right? He’d asked for this. Asked. _You know best._

 

David slammed a hand over his mouth, and Dwight joined it, trying to pry his iron grip lose, but David held firm. He increased his speed, lust and heat overwhelming him, the latency of this miserable limbo catching up to him as he drove forward.

 

He could abandon Dwight here, leave him ravished and pinioned in the locker, cum in his belly and dripping down his shirt. The trial made him _want_ to—the thing about this place was that it made people thin, drawn, translucent, like a sheet of wax paper, less than themselves but at the same time more _transparent_ than they ever could be in life. Here David could be circumspect, and Dwight could be brave.

 

Cool, green fog curled around Dwight’s ankles, his eyes wet and glossy.  David took in a gasping breath of the fetid, swampy air, cresting his peak as the thudding sound drew closer and closer—

 

_Can you hear me?_

 

David snapped awake, struggling to right himself as a feeling of dread rose out of him. He had dreamed about a hook pulling him up into the air, stringing his guts into sticky black lines, and a spinning, colossal vortex in the smoky sky.

 

He looked around the room, eyes catching the alarm clock stuttering out 5:15. It was a work day, he had to get up. Dwight’s work started at 8:30 and David was meeting with an investor at noon—MacMillan, Jr., cultured fucker who had Japanese oni masks on the walls of his office—where were his clothes? The air was cool and damp. Was the window open? And where was Dwight?

 

“…hear me? David,” came a voice next to him. David felt a hand on his shoulder. He ran a hand over his head, through his short hair. He’d cut it recently—shaved it right down to the scalp with the electric trimmer Dwight had gotten him for his birthday. His birthday was either four or three months ago. He was in bed.

 

“I’m ’ere, lovely,” David answered, tremor in his hand settling.

 

“Oh, thank gosh. I think you were having a nightmare, but I couldn’t wake you up,” Dwight explained. Without his glasses, his eyes were massive, circled by long lashes and framing a straight, angular nose. A blush of pink from sleep dotted his cheeks and his hair was an endearing tangle as David ruffled a hand through it.

 

“Was weird,” David murmured, “like, I was stuck in a loop, couldn’t get out, even when I got through the door, behind it was just…”

 

“…an investor with a mask fetish?” Dwight joked, blush deepening as David gaped at him for a moment of confused horror. Then, recognizing Dwight’s playful tone, he sighed.

 

“Exactly,” he smiled, the nightmare fading quickly, the way those technicolour, super-vivid types of dreams often did. He raised his hand to cradle Dwight’s face, smoothing a calloused thumb across his cheekbone.

 

“You’ll do fine,” Dwight assured him, and David felt his heart lift, “you’ll charm the pants off him.”

 

David snorted. “Should I practice some first?” he smirked, leaning forward to press his nose into Dwight’s neck. A hitch of breath and hurried swallow encouraged more boldness and David planted a row of kisses there, tracing up and down the line he’d made and making Dwight’s breath glide out on sigh after sigh.

 

_Take me, take me…_

 

The sound was intoxicating, and David wanted more. He slipped his hand under the quilt and started to peel up Dwight’s t-shirt, bunching the fabric as he kissed and licked at his neck. Dwight moaned and reached out, his hand trembling on the back of David’s head as his mouth travelled lower.

 

Then, there was the sound of a fire crackling, distant but acute, and David was seated there at its edge, chin in his hand.

 

The fantasy didn’t flee so much as meander away and David was left with a lump in his pants and a cool sweat on his back. He swore, spitting in the dirt, looking around the circle to see his miserable cohorts in their usual places. Staring into the fire. Reality found him again.

 

This place was clearly taking a toll on David, he mused as he looked into the dancing embers. The fog here was always white, the way it used to be that night in London—that night that never happened. _Fucking hell_ , David moaned, and stared at the ground.

 

David was starting to understand it, starting to piece together the design, and becoming adjusted, even since his late arrival, he thought, even better than his cohorts. Once, he’d seen the black girl trembling at the fireside, rocking back and forth and moaning, head in her hands; another time, the old man stood out in the open in the middle of a game, inviting his end, and on another occasion, the weedy git with the gloves was silent for an entire trial, not even uttering a sound when he was slashed in the back and left to bleed. They were betrayed by their lives, no better in this undying—save for one.

 

Maybe it was that he had been here longest, or maybe it was the lamentable role of “leader” he’d pushed upon himself, but being _here_ made Dwight purer with every trial he completed. David could read his aura—that was one of the gifts David was treated to since coming here, and as natural to him now as breathing—and he saw it bright, green, healthy, starburst.

 

David stood, crossing the fire to where Dwight sat between Claudette and Jake. Sometimes they sat and told stories, the details of which were soon forgotten with another calling of the trial, or sung songs or teased one another, when their spirits could handle it. But this night they all sat in silence.

 

 _Wake me_ , Dwight had said, or was it _take me_? The words were a blur after two awkward translations, or so David recalled, and he strode up to Dwight, the light behind him and his broad body casting Dwight’s slimmer one in shadow.

 

“What…?” Dwight asked, and David took his chin in one hand, tilting his head up. They stared for an uneasy second, before David bent and took his mouth in a kiss.

 

Dwight moaned, choking out some sort of complaint and putting his hand on David’s arm, _mm_ ing into his mouth as he seized a second kiss. Another and another fell, and Dwight squirmed but didn’t fight, made pliant by the need for intimacy, desire to quench a thirst long-forgotten. David sank to a crouch between Dwight’s knees, knocking them open with the distinct image of a wallpapered flat, and the scent of old beer, beneath the smell of cold earth under his feet.

 

“W-wait,” Dwight protested meekly as David wrapped an arm around his waist and brought him down to the ground, off of the log where he was sitting. David kissed around his jaw, noticing that Claudette was holding Dwight’s hand in a gesture that was both comforting and restraining, as was Jake pushing down on Dwight’s shoulder. Helping David push him into place.

 

But that was the point of the game, wasn’t it: to help or to hinder? David had tried both, and one then the other, and over and over. Sometimes he awoke wanting to whine and groan but biting down on it, helpless but to clutch at his side, pained as if he had already been attacked despite only just leaving the campfire.

 

Dwight, on the other hand, always began with his hand in his mouth like a baby, but throughout the trial grew, almost without fail, into a man willing to risk his back. More like _himself_ , David observed, narrow eyes flashing in the moonlight.

 

Modesty was fleeting, here—every survivor had seen every other one sobbing, begging for their lives, soiling themselves out of fear and with blood spraying out of their mouths as the hook drove home the final time. The other survivors just watched, bemused as David covered Dwight with his body, rutting eagerly against him, pinching his skin. He sucked a welt into a white, dirty neck, sliding a hand down the front of his slacks.

 

“Y-you don’t have to do this,” Dwight whispered, either a courtesy or a plea, David could barely tell. He couldn’t keep realities separate anymore, the low light of the bar and the shimmering moonlight of the asylum’s grounds blending in his mind like a streak of oily paint. He yanked Dwight’s slacks open and pushed up his shirt, pulling his trousers down over one leg and letting them hang off the other as he pulled Dwight’s knees up around his waist.

 

Wordlessly, David spat on his fingers and sunk them into the space between Dwight’s thighs, rubbing the perineum thoughtfully and feeling the convulsion of furled muscles. Dwight yelped and grabbed David’s shoulders, white-knuckling his jacket as one finger slid inside him. Just a single knuckle breeched his trembling hole, and then a different hand was on his flaccid length, alluring it to hardness with a few hasty strokes. Dwight gasped as a feathery touch teased the head and his grip loosened, at which moment the David slid his finger home.

 

“Are you—is this—?” Dwight gasped out as the digit dug around inside him, stroking his sweet spot carefully a few times and making his toes curl and his heels knock against David’s back. “Is this real?”

 

David knew what the delirious rambling meant; he was asking if this was just adrenaline and madness borne of the trial’s torture, the likes of the same that had Meg sobbing and throwing her arms around Nea’s neck, then fucking her hand minutes later in the shadow of a nearby tree. Or the wild passion that over took Min as she sat one day tearing at her hair and trying to throw herself into the fire, it taking all of Ace and David’s strength to restrain her thrashing.

 

David wasn’t even sure how to answer. Reality was nebulous at the moment, but the visceral warmth of Dwight’s sucking heat, and the sharpness of the fingers in his back, was clear. He added a second finger and twisted them about, swirling them on the spongey bud inside and making Dwight slacken with pleasure.

 

“You know best, love,” David gasped out, slipping his fingers out and unhooking his own jeans. He held Dwight’s knees wide and slid his hardness up and down his belly, pressing down and thrusting into his abdominal muscles, which quaked with anticipation. Dwight was leaning against the log, and looking over his shoulder David was vaguely aware that their audience had left, though he could care less about modesty in the moment. He took his cock in one hand and fed it between Dwight’s legs, stroking him with the other hand as he sunk in, inch by inch.

 

Dwight gasped and threw back his head, jaw slack and eyes watery as pressure extended his insides. He pulled at David’s coat as the large man started to move, thrusting his thickness in and out. Dwight rolled his hips forward to meet his movements, eyes dark and legs limp around David’s waist.

 

Heat wound up inside of him and David gave a moan, hitting deep and feeling Dwight’s ankles dig into his back. It was delirious, the smoke of the campfire tempering his broad shoulders, while Dwight’s warmth sucked him in. He was easy, easy to open his legs and let himself be taken, but _goddamn_ , they _all_ were, battered open and spread raw like autopsies under the Entity’s scrutinizing gaze. David speared hard into him, feeling muscles trembling around his cock and a sob punch out of Dwight’s chest.

 

Violence collided with lust and David looked down to see his hands on Dwight’s shoulders, pinning him in place while he gasped. A cut marred his left knuckles, one David wasn’t sure had always been there and he yelped as the red spilled onto Dwight’s ragged tie. He drove in harder and David started pleading, _take me, take me, get me out of here_

 

_you’re a beast,_

_Can you hear me?_

 

Fog swirled, thick as gauze and David groaned and pushed in harder, shoving his hands under Dwight’s knees and hefting up, folding him in half and making him gasp for mercy. Dwight put his hands on David’s stomach to try and push him back but the broader waist confirmed brutal strength Dwight wasn’t ready for and he whined as David started to press deeper, hilting himself with every thrust.

 

His mind soared until it was miles away and David _growled_ like a beast, teeth grit so tightly they could chip, vision splintering as he felt Dwight clench weakly around his girth, hips moving unsteadily. His pace quickened, desperation mounting until he was shivering, spilling his warmth into Dwight’s belly, hearing the stuttering, stilted gasp as the man beneath him accepted his seed, but David didn’t stop. Slowing for only a terrified moment he pressed on, thrusts quick and short, hands folding around Dwight’s throat.

 

“Please, ta—” Dwight gasped, breath shortening as he was pounded, oversensitive, into the dirt, hips stuttering to absorb the force, belly quivering. David’s vision clouded. The fog ate him up, entered his brain, his eyes. Reality was nebulous, subjective. That’s what this game was about, right? _You know best. You know._

 

 

 

David sat up, his chin in his hand. He was gazing mildly into the fire, slowly urged back to reality like returning into his body. Min and Meg stood across from him, clenching their fingers into their shirts and biting their lips anxiously. For a moment, David thought _he_ was what was making them uncomfortable, but quickly recognized the call of the Entity echoing in the forest.

 

Dwight was standing there as well, frowning at him like he’d grown a second head. He held out his hand as David slowly rose to his feet.

 

“What’s that, lovely?”

 

A test. Dwight didn’t even blush, his skin pale from terror.

 

“I said, please take the—the frickin’ kit,” Dwight hissed back, holding out the crumpled sachet and withdrawing quickly when David took it. “You’re bleeding.”

 

David couldn’t help but try a second test, and caught Dwight’s wrist in his hand, vaguely aware of the bandage on his knuckles as he squeezed. Dwight just twisted free of his grip, nose wrinkling with a curious frown.

 

Mist swirled in as the shadow lowered to collect them. David grit his teeth.

 

“You know best,” he mumbled to an impassive leader, and stepped through the fog. The familiar gates came into view.


End file.
